


What We Sacrifice At the Altar

by Mary_Sue_Donym



Category: The Power - Naomi Alderman
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Misandry, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gender Role Reversal, I should start this with ra-ra-ah-ah-ah cause it's gonna be a bad romance, Original Character(s), POV Original Female Character, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Relationships, bad as in unhealthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Sue_Donym/pseuds/Mary_Sue_Donym
Summary: After London burned, Roxy was unable to find Tunde again. But a part of him remained in her powerful daughter. On the cusp of adulthood, this daughter dreamed of adventure, and would be only mildly disappointed to find a pretty boy instead.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is this going to be particularly high quality? No. But is there enough fanfiction out there for this gripping and thought provoking novel yet? Also no, so here we are.

I was the only person in Bunkerton to call the Prophet Mum.

Wait. Of course I was. I was an only child.

What I meant is that no one else dared to call Mum anything but “Prophet.” They didn’t say Lady Monke, as they sometimes called me, or Roxanne. Even those closest to her, like Sister Evangeline, would pass out if they somehow accidentally called her “Roxy.” But I was allowed to be so brazen as to demand the Prophet tell me bedtime stories, and that she skip Services with me to practice sparring, and that she light up the sky with her lightning for me.

Mum’s power is even prettier than the way she describes all the boys who might be my father. All of the other women used their power liberally. We started our fires, fished, played, and showed off with it. Mum is above all that. She isn’t expected to do chores, is too intimidating to play with, and can show off by simply existing: the strongest of all time, spoken to face to face with Mother Eve. The rest of us had electricity, Mum commanded lightning. When we faced down an enemy, she would stand on a high rock, spread her fingers, and hurl thunderbolts from her palms as if they were rocks. Her arm was a little bit erratic when she did that, and she’d rub her scar afterwards like it ached. But she struck terror and awe into all.

Including me.

She led the Bunkerton Convent. She negotiated glitter deals with the travelling merchants, gave us laws, and enforced them. I wasn’t phased by that so much growing up. Victoria’s mum was a shepherd, Eliza’s tended the glitter trees, and mine was a warrior-chief-prophet. But by the time I turned sixteen, I’d begun to think: What does that make me. It makes me the sole heir to this town, to this legacy. There’s no one else in town prominent enough to, besides the Sisters, who are spiritual leaders, not material ones.

Am I ready? I asked myself. I looked at Mum and was struck by her mortality. One day, she will die. Hopefully in a long, long time. But possibly tomorrow. I could fight very well, read anything in English or Latin, and make a farting sound with my armpit. No, I wasn’t ready.

I was itching to fix that, one fine (extremely hot and muggy) summer day, but unfortunately was stuck in Services. “Who can name a pure man, besides the Son of our Mother and Lady?” Sister Evangeline began in Latin. I snickered to myself - the way she phrased it, Mary I of Israel and Goddess were using their uplifted forms to, ah, do the flip side of what the sultry boys of Sodom had going on, ya see. And somehow a baby came out. “Truly - this is not a rhetorical question. Who among this congregation knows of a pure man?” The congregation stayed silent. Few of us understood the question, and I, for one, didn’t know the right answer. “Who has read about a virtuous man?” She hinted. The silence in the room was tranquil and respectful. “I’m thinking of someone specific. Jooooe . . . Joooooe . . . .”

“Stalin?!” Mary Turner blurted, her expression confused and a little scandalised.

“No,” Sister Evangeline said very clearly and firmly in English.

“I leaned over and whispered in Victoria’s ear: “Joe Mama who art in heaven -”

“Don’t be shy!” Sister Evangeline commanded. “Alice, was that you? Speak up, beloved daughter,” she entreated, a spark of desperation in her eyes.

I sat up very straight. “Joe,” I began confidently. “Seph,” I added, not truly with confidence, but with enough bravado to pass as it. Sister Evangeline grinned brightly, so I knew I was on the right track. Now to guess which Joseph - one I’d read about. Not, me, specifically, though, one in a book we were all expected to have read. “From the Bible.” It finally clicked: “The husband of Mary the First.”

“Ita!” Back to Latin. “Clearly, Joseph was a good and pure man, or he would not have been granted the honor of wedding our Lady. So what are the traits he possessed, that he should be the most desirable man on Earth?” Sister Evangeline began to look around, thought better of it, and answered herself. “What you sisters must look for in a husband, what you must brothers strive to be, and what you must teach your sons to be is discrete, obedient, and supportive.

“Joseph was discrete, for when he found out that Mary the First was with Child, he planned to divorce her quietly. Other men of his time would have been consumed with jealousy and made a fuss. Of course, when Joseph was informed of Whose the Child was, he demonstrated obedience to the Mother and his wife. Then, he supported his wife throughout her preg-”

“Eva!” came a shout from behind me. It was Mum, of course, who else was allowed to interrupt? Sister Evangeline furrowed her brow for half a second, then smiled graciously. “Sermon’s cancelled. Everyone except for Eva, Mary,” (not Mary I, obviously, a different Mary: one of Mum’s top soldiers) “Persephone, Angelica, Rebecca,” she pointed at the town elders as she passed by. She was followed by a young woman, Jenny, with a small, pale, dark-haired boy in her grip. “And Alice.” Oh!

I leaped up, hissed, “I’ll tell you about this after,” to Victoria, and joined the entourage on the little stage up front.

“Who is this boy, Prophet?” Sister Evangeline asked when the rest of the rest of the congregants had exited.

“Jenny here caught him at the Carolina market with this.” Mum pulled a tiny plastic bag out of her front pocket. Glitter, I saw instantly. “Uncut,” Mum clarified, and then that was easy to see too.

“Where did you get this?” Angelica demanded of the boy.

“Carolina,” he said, voice trembling but with unmistakable cheek. At the same time, Jenny and I reached for him. She tapped his right temple and let out a zap. I pinched the pressure point on the left side of his neck, and his flesh fizzled. He tried to flinch away from us both at the same time and shrunk in on himself. We let him.

“Didn’t your father teach you any manners?” Persephone tsked.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he blurted quickly. He looked Angelica in the eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “I meant to say, I got it in Carolina, ma’am.” 

I contemplated that a bit more seriously than I had before as I grabbed his wrist. Carolina is near Bunkerton, not a day’s ride away on horseback. Provided he was telling the truth, that wasn’t a half-bad place to start looking. I leaned towards the boy a bit as I poured out my electricity into him. He screeched. And Grandpa lived in Carolina! He could help us search for the source, or bake me cookies. The boy tried to yank his arm away, so I tugged him forward with both hands, still twisting my power into his wrist. He fell to his knees before me and pleaded: “Stop, please stop, I’m sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t help,” I told him calmly. Of course he was sorry. His huge, tragic hazel eyes were oceans roaring, I’m sorry! “You need to tell me where you got that glitter.”

“From - his code name is Thunder. I haven’t seen him in person. He puts the glitter and my instructions in a tree hole, I put the money in.”

“He?” I looked at Mum and the others. Was there any he here with the ability to embezzle glitter? Was this Thunder working for one of our women? Or was he growing his own? Everyone else looked back at me, and I realized that I’d taken the mantle of the bad cop and was expected to continue.

“Where is he getting it?”

“I don’t know,” he whimpered. I couldn't tell if that was true. I looked sternly at him, and eventually decided that if it was, and I tortured him until I made something up, it would be less helpful than not knowing anything.

“Who else is working with you?”

“Some townsboys.”

All boys! “Which townsboys?” He hesitated. I twisted my wrist and he cracked, instantly and shamefully:

“Aidan, the butcher’s son, Seth, the baker’s husband, and I don’t know who the others are.”

“Yes, you do, how could you live in the same town and not know each other?!”

“I - I -” he screamed, even though I wasn’t doing anything. Then, in a rush, he babbled, “There might not even be more I’m just guessing I don’t know I don’t know!”

“Who do you sell to?”

“Half the town - half of Carolina, but they all think it’s only them and won’t talk about it.”

“And you do your secret sales . . . in the market?!”

He began sobbing hysterically.

“He was trying to be discrete, Jenny allowed uncertainly. I read the room. Mum raised an eyebrow at me, and Sister Evangeline and Jenny seemed uncomfortable. The others were neutral - used to this and not in charge of my moral education.

I looked at the boy. He wouldn’t be very helpful in this state. “We need to send someone to Carolina to take Thunder down. He’s the supply, so we won’t need to get the rest of the . . . Boys. This boy can take us to their rendezvous, and we’ll stake out Thunder.”

“That sounds good,” Persephone said. We should send women who haven’t been there. Then no one can recognize them and alert Thunder.”

“No, we should send two or three women who know Carolina well; then the boy can’t fool them,” Angelica retorted.

“Only one,” Mum commanded. “This is a stealth mission.” She was addressing me. She knew what I wanted. She was inviting me to take it.

“Dibs.” Everyone looked at me, and no one seemed hostile, so I continued. “I’ve already called bad cop, the boy won’t dare try and trick me.”

“Sounds good. Can you be ready by tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Then let’s get this boy to a room,” said Sister Evangeline, which would only really mean a dungeon cell.

The boy was then quieter, and only squeaked when I yanked him to his feet and passed him back to Jenny. I grinned gratefully and conspiratorially at Mum and raced off to find Victoria.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm getting the British accents right, but that's okay because I tried very hard and am proud of myself anyways.

The next morning, I woke up bright. Not bright and early. I woke up long after it became bright outside. Then, I layed in bed for a little while, remembering that I had no lessons or chores for the day.

When I finally recalled why, I sprang out of bed, made it in an instant, and had breakfast in the next. I sprinted all the way to the Service house. Outside, Sister Evangeline was waiting with the boy next to her. His wrists were tied with rope.

“Beloved daughter,” she called, aren’t you bringing a spare set of clothes?”

“No, I’d just get them both dirty.”

“Alright,” she said. She smiled, not because she thought I was funny, but because she’s that type. “I have a map and some food for you in this bag, and the Prophet thinks you should take your bike.” She gave me a slim brown backpack.

Mum thinks I should - is that an order? If so, I didn’t want to get Sister Evangeline in trouble for being unclear. “I’ll be back or send word in three days, then.”

“May the Mother watch over you.” She nudged the boy gently towards me. I led him back to my house by the rope, then stopped. If he was going to ride with me, he’d need use of his hands.

“Here,” I said, and held out my hands. He shoved his towards me, and I unbound them. I saw marks of my power on his arms, like spiderwebs. I stuffed the rope in the pack for later.

“Thank you,” he said. So softly! So shyly! The clarity of it shocked me enough that my eyes met his fact.

The skin of it was stretched between his cheekbones, but not so drastically as to detract from the smoothness and softness of his face. The corners of his thin pink lips were hesitantly curved upwards. So was the tip of his nose. He had shaggy but clean black hair that fell onto his forehead, stopping right above his eyes. His eyelashes were dark and delicate, the perfect frames for his light hazel eyes.

I forgot myself and the world in those eyes. They were sweet, hopeful, innocent things. They shimmered in the reflection of the rising sun behind me - or perhaps from tears. His eyes were manga-sized, and fit him perfectly.

“You’re welcome,” I said, or rather the autopilot in my brain said it and I suddenly realized that I was staring. My eyes tarried a moment longer.

“What’s your name?” he whispered, and I heard a waver in his voice - I’ve gone too far, the wavers shouted, I’m sorry! it screamed.

“Alice Monke,” I replied, since if I introduced myself as Alison I’d have to go to the trouble of explaining that I went by Alice. His eyes widened further. They were almost ridiculous, now. Beautiful, but he looked like a frightened infant. I basked in his awe, and his terror. Then his eyes dropped to the floor. Their hold broken, I observed the rest of his body. He was something around my age. He was wearing a long sleeved, grey toga that went down to his mid-thighs. It was tied with a green sash and overlaid baggy brown jeans. He had no jewelry.

“Yours?” I finally recalled it would be appropriate to ask.

“Justinian Farmer.” A soft and handsome name. What excuse could I give to make his voice ring again?

“Well, Justinian,” I murmured, “how invested are you in going home?”

“P - pardon?”

“Let me clarify. What do you think the alternative to going home is?” I couldn’t stop myself. His fear mixed with the excited citrus scent my skein emitted. I hoped he couldn’t smell it.

“Well - I -” What, boy? Didn’t you realize it was a rhetorical question? Charming, silly little thing.

“Unless you want to find out, you will do exactly as I say. First, you will come with me to Carolina, and show me your drug tree.” After that, I didn’t have much of a plan. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. I pulled myself away from the trance he put me under, careful to suppress the sparks threatening to flicker along my collarbone. Then I pulled him towards me, and myself around my house to my bike. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and climbed aboard.

“See the steps by the wheels? Get on those and hold tightly to my shoulders. But not my neck.”

He obeyed. I started riding on the path east, whistling and waving at my neighbors until I was out of Bunkerton. Soon I came to the paved road, and picked up speed. Caught up in the breeze, I raised myself to my feet as I peddled, pulled the bike into a daring wheelie, and cried victoriously; 

“AAAAAIEE!”

Wait. That wasn’t me. A moment too late, I felt the center of gravity on the bike shift backwards. Justinian hit the ground, I slammed into him, and my bike landed on top of us.

“Oops.” I heaved my bike off me, rolled off Justinian and stood. “My bad.”

“It’s okay.” He sounded more normal and friendly and less scared than ever. I helped him up and we got back on the track.

The sun’s rays pierced me more harshly as it rose ever higher, and the road lengthened and revealed its bumps, and the air wavered. I grew desperate for a distraction as the reruns of my usual daydreams (being a Mongolain horseback archer, or a philosopher queen who willingly dissolves the monarchy to bring freedom to my people and glory to myself in the history books, or a villain who is asked by a hero, ‘Oh yeah? You and what army?’ giving me the opportunity to smirk and point out the window. When she is leaning out the window, confused by the empty town square below, I shove her out.) grew stale. The best idea I had was to talk to Justinian. But what if he thinks I’m pathetic or dull? I asked myself. Well, the worst he can do is insult me.

“So, what does your mum do?”

“She’s a vegetable farmer. Dad and Theodora and I help.”

“Is that your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Your parents named their kids after a married couple? Are you Alabama emigrants or what?”

He laughed, brightly and clearly. “No. From London. My parents were out of town when it got blown up, of course.”

“My folks too. Except my dad? I dunno about him.”

“Is it true that your - that the Prophet . . . Is your father literal?”

“What?”

“Were you conceived naturally? Was there a man involved?”

I had to take my left hand off the handle to cover my mouth. My bike wavered as I bit back a snicker. He was being so sincere; how could I laugh at him? I spent so much time regaining my composure that he likely figured I was thinking up a lie.

“I assume so. Who told you otherwise?”

“No one!” Panic overtook him. “I mean, someone, obviously, but I don’t recall anyone in particular. Maybe Theodora, we talk a lot, but if she did she didn’t mean it like an insult, or anything,” he prattled.

“I’m not holding it against anyone, I just want to know what, exactly, the alternative is supposed to be? To having a dad?”

“Well . . . How did Mary I do it?”

Oh! I knew that one! “Through the Mother.”

“Exactly. And the Prophet was close to Mother Eve.”

“Good friends, yeah.”

“No one really says this out loud, but what if - and I mean, I don’t know if anyone really means it either . . .”

“Get on with it.”

“It’s probably blasphemy.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Say Mother Eve is your father.”

“Huh,” I said. “I’ll have to ask Mum about that.” She’ll get a kick out of that. 

“Please don’t tell her I told you.”

“Kay. Heard any other good rumours?”

“Sorry, no. I mean, I’ve heard you’re powerful, but that’s obviously true.”

My lips twitched upward. “Who, me?”

“No. I’m just talking to myself. I’m a soldierot; I slay giants and steal dragons’ gold!” he monologued romantically. 

I cackled. That nerve again, that sass! “And what do you do, oh brave warriorot, when the princes you rescue take you for a woman and fall madly in love with you?”

“Oh milady of questionable heritage, I am a slave of my shame. I fear awkwardness, and lest the princes come to detest my perceived trickery I flee the country. I’ve a map with queendoms to stay away from marked down.”

“Oh soldierot, in this your wisdom matches my own, but does your wisdom have a plan if, in your adventures, you are overpowered?”

“Feared woman, I perish.”

At that I couldn’t hold back any longer and lost my voice in laughter. Justinian laughed too, prettily.

We continued in amicable silence until the sun touched the horizon. I saw an abandoned car lying in a ditch by the road, and figured that was a good place to stop. Especially since I’d neglected to bring a tent.

I pressed the brakes. “We’re done for today. Tomorrow morning we’ll reach Carolina.” We walked to the car on wobbly feet, and stretched.

I looked in Sister Evangeline’s pack. Besides the rope, it had some bread, cold pork, and tampons in it. I figured we’d only need two meals out of that, so took the pork and split it into rough halves (mine was slightly larger) between Justinian and I.

Instead of thanking me, when I gave him his two-fifths, he blurted, “Don’t tell my parents.”

“What?”

“That I was selling drugs. They’re poor, but respectable people, and they won’t stand for it.”

It was the desperation in his eyes that made me hesitate to reassure him. If I said, ‘of course not!’ and, somehow, couldn't’ keep my promise - “I’ll try my best to keep them out of this. But to be perfectly frank, I’m not sure what exactly is gonna go down.”

Justinian looked troubled, but nodded his understanding. We ate, and arranged our sleeping positions in the car, which was fortunately not too cold: I stretched out in the back, using the backpack as a pillow, and he curled up in the right-front seat.

As I drifted off, I remembered my intention to re-bind Justinian’s wrists. But my legs ached so badly, my eyelids were so heavy . . . 

I woke up. Please don’t be morning, please don’t - I opened my eyes. Out the window, the moon was high among the stars. With them outside was Justinian. He’s just taking a piss. But my gut said: get out of the car. I obeyed. Silently.

I followed him. He returned to the road and continued east. I stepped onto the road. He turned. I couldn't see his face in the dark, but he must have recognized me; he turned away again and began to run.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel the need to ask myself: plot? What plot? Not because I write unchaste stories, but because I simply don't know what exactly I am writing.

I chased him. He ran faster. So did I. We sprinted silently in the night; who else was around to waste breath on, and were we not in a complete understanding? Suddenly he dashed off the road. I considered my next move, before angling towards where he’d run if he did horizontally. I mounted an upturned heap of earth on the uneven terrain and caught sight of him. My prediction was right and I gained on him.

I held out my hand towards him. We were barely meters apart. I let loose a jolt of electricity. It flickered, and illuminated his robe, but didn’t land.

I breathed in slowly and aimed the tips of my fingers at him again. I let my breath and power out in a single battle cry. He screeched, and stumbled. Suddenly I was beside him.

My first cruelties here can be forgiven. They were born of the heat of desperation and came from no place of malice.

I snatched his shoulders at the joins and twisted my power into them. Justinian writhed beneath my touch. He tried to lift his arms to block me, but feebly dropped them again with a wail.

I knocked him off his feet with a firm hit to the chest.

Then over him, what many would not forgive - my lashing out not at a threat of escape but the terror that my own ineptitude had brought me so close to failure - began.

I put my hands on his temples and pressed them into his flesh, which hissed under my sparks. He kicked, so I straddled him and tried to find his hip joints. He struggled, and almost got out from under me before I shocked him with a shock to the face. Then I focused on his left thigh, and burnt through his robe to get to the flesh. I seared it, and quickly stuck my left hand into the hole. Finally, I found the hip. Holding him down with my right hand and both legs, I paused to take a breath. In. Out! I felt the power crackle along my skein and into my palm, then heard him speak coherently again.

“Stop, stop, please! Don’t, stop, no please -” he paused when he realized I’d relented. I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“You almost got away from me,” I murmured. “I don’t understand what you’re not understanding. I need very little from you. I just need you to show me that accursed tree, and then you get to go.”

I traced a finger along his lip, and he pressed himself to the ground in retreat. I frowned and narrowed my eyes at him. He eased slowly into my touch, his eyes locked onto mine. “What did you think would happen? I would go home? I would have followed you back to yours, and then why wouldn’t I tell your mum how naughty you’d been?”

“I wasn’t going home. I can’t risk being there when they find out.”

I pinched his lip and jolted it. He gasped. “You should not be afraid of disappointing your parents. You should be scared,” I leaned in and whisked his hair out of his face, “of ME.”

Justinian looked up at me with those huge, pleading eyes. How to keep him in line? Frightening him hadn’t worked. Pain hadn’t worked. Something would have to work, or else I would fail. I made an arc of electricity over his face. The light flickered off his tears. His eyes, his damned eyes! Terrified and despairing, yet not broken.

My thumbs flickered and crackled. I pressed them into his eyes. I squeezed mine shut as I shifted my weight over his head. He screamed. It was the only sound in the night, besides my own thoughts, which growled: That’s what he gets for being an idiot. I can’t go home empty handed.

While I was distracted, he finally managed to shove me off him. I hit the ground and yanked myself to my feet instantly. But instead of re-subduing him, I watched as he scrambled up and tried to flee. He ran, sprinted, and tripped. He fell flat on his face, and then, I decided, it was over.

I approached; he crawled away. “Alright,” I said coldly. “I think you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes, please,” he gasped.

“How much can you see?” I demanded. It would be very difficult to find the tree if I’d blinded him completely.

“I don’t - I can’t open my eyes,” he whimpered, clutching his hands to his face at my feet.

It was dark out, and the pain would wear off. Right? I wasn’t a doctor. “That’s okay. Now, I need to find Thunder.” I sat down beside him, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to limit my power over you to negative reinforcement. If you’d like, we can come up with a good story to tell your parents that clears your name.”

“Clear my name? I come home, covered in electrostatic scars with a strange woman - they’ll think I’m damaged goods.”

“No, no, there are ways to confirm a boy’s purity,” I consoled. I wasn’t exactly sure what they were. “So our story. Did Jenny nab you right from the market?”

“After I left.”

“Did anyone see?”

“No. I think. They would have helped me.”

Someone still might have noticed that he and the out-of-town girl went missing at the same time. “How about we say you were kidnapped by a madwoman, and she took you into the wilderness and, uh, used electroshock therapy to convince you that . . . That Mary II is colluding with the czar - no, banging the czarot, yeah.”

“The czar is married?” he asked, distantly.

“I dunno. Works just as well if she isn’t. And then I rescued you, and I”m bringing you home. Right then! Come on, let’s get back to the car.”

He reached out a hand, and I pulled him to his feet. He latched himself to my left arm and stumbled along. We eventually reached the car. I pulled at the rope and held it out for him. He didn’t see it. “I’m going to bind your wrists,” I said, more softly than I’d meant to.

He held out his hands and I tied them together. “But what if,” he asked. His eyes didn’t focus on me; he might have been talking to the wind.

Goodness . . . Was his Mum so opposed to sparing the rod? “I’ll protect you,” I vowed rashly and virtuously.


	4. Chapter 4

We made good time the next day. Justinian clung to me much more tightly than before. When I saw Carolina in the distance, I took us off the road and dismounted. “Which side of town is the tree on?”

“Southwest.”

“Are your eyes any better?” I asked, stowing my bike between a rock and a bush.

“I think so, a bit,” he said, and as if to prove it, tilted his head towards me. His eyes didn't’ quite focus.

I took his arm and led him on foot south, before reaching the southern edge and turning east. We crept slowly towards town. Along the way, I pointed out every tree and asked if it was the right one. He said no to all of them, until we were almost to the houses. The right one was a tall oak in the middle of a small grove, by a well.

I hid the two of us in the brush. We waited in hot, uncomfortable silence. I watched Justinian out of the corners of my eyes. The urge to sweep him into my arms and whisper apologies and reassurances was only counteracted by my focus on my task: to observe the tree unseen.

At noon, a boy emerged from Carolina. He was wearing a green toga, and whistled as he swung a pail. He lowered and filled it at the well, then set it down. He approached the tree, looked around, and pulled a jingling bag of coins out of his robe. Quickly, he jammed it into the hole and skipped away.

My heart skipped a few beats. I needed a plan, didn’t I? But my instincts told me it was already too late for that. I readied myself in a crouch. I didn't have to wait long before I saw another figure start towards the grove. It approached slowly, as if limping.

Is that Grandpa? I squinted; it did look like him. When he got closer, I felt washed over with minor disappointment and relief. I would have a respite from dealing with Thunder, and it would be longer before it was over.

Grandpa came into the grove, leaned on the oak tree for a moment, and sat down beneath it.

“Grandpa! Hey, Grandpa!” I called. “Here, Justinian, come on.” I pulled him along with me towards Grandpa. “He can help us. He’ll probably let us stay at his house tonight - or, you can probably go home.”

“Grandpa, this is Justinian. We’re, or, well, I’m, looking for this uncut glitter dealer called Thunder. How are you?”

Grandpa’s mouth gaped slightly, and his eyes widened. My confusion made me roll a second perception check. It was then that I noticed that he had the coin purse in his lap. He was counting the money. The deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face confirmed his guilt. “Oh no,” I said, since you don’t cuss around old people. “Mum is gonna be pissed.”

“Well, not if we don’t tell her,” he tried, and smiled sugar-sweetly. “Let’s go to my house, and I’ll see if I can bake you some cookies.”

“We can have cookies,” I conceded graciously, “but I’m still telling.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be a snitch,” he implored. Then his eyes became hard and his jaw set. He turned to Justinian. “That what the Farmer boy did? Must have been. Weakling.” I winced - did he have to embarrass our family in front of Justinian?

“Grandpa. If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times: you can’t hold boys to the standards of your generation’s. It was cruel back then to force sensitive souls and gentle hearts to base their worth on their ability to endure pain, and it’s a million times worse now, when they’re not strong at all.”

“Are you saying I’m not strong?” I smiled, gently, and didn’t say anything. “I am strong. You might have more electrostaticity or whatnot, but I have my persistence, my cunning, my wiles. I got that glitter from right under your mum’s nose, and she watches me like a hawk, so don’t lecture me about strength.”

“Okay,” I told him cheerily.

“Now, back to my main point. You don’t want to turn out like him.” He gestured to Justinian. The marks of my power were prominent on almost all of his exposed flesh. “So don’t be a snitch.”

I laughed, and stifled it as quickly as I could. “Oh, Grandpa, never change. Are you done?” I asked, patiently.

He glared up at me. “You will - you will show respect -” I smiled calmly. “I am your grandfather! There was a time when that meant something, and an old man was - and a man was -” his face twisted, and I suddenly worried he would cry. “No, I am not done!”

“Let’s go to your house and have cookies.”

He stared at me with hot, shining eyes, then turned to Justinian. “This is your generation’s fault. After the Day of the Girls, we were still . . . Not nothing. We had power.”

“Not the power, Grandpa,” I corrected gently.

“No, power and the power were different! We owned businesses, we still governed our homes, people looked up to us. And then you spineless runts came along. You simps. You throw yourselves at them for the tiniest whiff of affection, you bend like delicate flowers in a hurricane, you abandon your brothers for them!”

“I’m so sorry about him. He’s from a different time.”

“And see?! They don’t even listen to us anymore. We were going to reclaim a little manhood in our glitter market. And now you’ve ruined that too. You make me lose hope in mankind. Your father will be disappointed in you.”

“Lord Monke?” Justinian murmured meekly. “I was hoping that my parents wouldn’t know about this.”

Grandpa’s eyes bulged. “They will,” he seethed, “they will! They will know your failure.” He heaved himself to his feet and began walking slowly, favoring one leg, back to town.

It was time to put my foot down. “No, you will not.” I roared. He flashed a manic smile at me from over his shoulder.

“Then stop me!” he howled, and stomped along.

I snatched Justinian’s hand and stalked after him. With my other hand I grabbed Grandpa’s arm. But I didn’t apply any power, and I wasn’t putting much pressure into it, either. He tried to jerk his arm away a few times, and I tightened my grip slightly - causing him to gasp. I immediately loosened my hold and he wrenched himself away from me.

“Grab him!” I ordered Justinian. His eyes must have recovered some, because he was able to obey. We each latched onto one of Grandpa’s arms and dug our heels into the ground.

“Well, then,” Grandpa sighed. “HELP! HELP! FIRE, FIRE!”

I cursed under my breath. A small group of people came running out of town.

“Where’s the fire?” a tall woman demanded.

“There’s no fire. My grandfather was just -”

“I am Thunder! I was the one providing all of you with cheap, powerful glitter. And this Farmer boy was my dealer, until he sold us out to Bunkerton.”

Instead of sticking to our story, or even keeping silent, Justinian did the worst possible thing he could: he began to cry.

“What?” a dark-haired young woman asked. “Justin - you know what that stuff did to Uncle Joseph -”

“I wasn’t doing any, just selling!”

“You were getting men addicted! They can’t handle it; you’re killing them. You’re killing them.”

“We needed the money! Where did you think I was getting the money?”

Theodora’s - I assumed this was Theodora - face muscles tightened. “We need to go home. Now.”

She grabbed Justinian and he offered no resistance.

“ . . . No more glitter, then?” a boy asked.

“No,” I told him firmly. “You heard the woman. It’s dangerous for boys.”

I turned to him and the other townspeople. “I have come on orders from my mum, the Prophet, to dismantle this abomination. Send a messenger on horseback for her immediately, and escort my grandfather to his house.”

“What about all of the dealerots?” a gray haired woman asked.

“You just got the only one,” Grandpa said. Even if I didn’t know that wasn’t true, the sudden calming in his demeanor made it obvious.

“Seth sells me mine,” the tall woman said.

“My brother deals, too.”

“Well,” I declared, raising my voice, “denunciation based systems of punishment are not the best for justice. So, everyone except Grandpa and Justinian Farmer will be presumed innocent.” I put my hands on my hips and looked around. “Well?”

The crowd departed, two women gently taking hold of Grandpa and leading him back to town. Before we reached it, I saw a horse charge towards Bunkerton.

Once in Carolina, it was easy to find the Farmer household. People around it were leaning out their windows and over fences to better see the scene on the front porch: Theodora was crossing her arms to the side, with a half nervous, half malicious gleam in her eyes. Justinain’s mum (or some random woman, who knew) stood in the doorway, growling loudly and clearly, “You have messed in womens’ business and led many men to shame. What have you done with our honor? How will our neighbors regard your father in the market? Who will we find to marry you?” Behind her, his dad (certainly his dad, they looked exactly alike) stood open mouthed, silent tears streaming down his face. Justinian himself was lowered to his knees in front of his mum, head bowed, completely still.

I approached; I’d made a vow. I felt eyes turn to me and forced my shoulders to square. “He was trying to help.” It came out quiet but level. Justinian’s mum heard adn turned her gaze to me. Blankness. Theodora said something I couldn’t hear, and it changed to recognition.

“My lady, I can help myself,” she said respectfully. She looked around, and her eyes lingered on each of her neighbors. “I can provide for my own household,” she announced to them, “and this boy was not a help to me, but a mule, slut, and parasite. If he thinks he can provide for himself - let him.”

She went back inside. I half expected the billow of a queenly robe behind her, but she was only draped in commoners’ garb. Oh, she governed her home like a pharaoh. Her daughter followed her in quickly.

Leave, echoed loudly in my mind. You got what you wanted, leave. Justinian had been declared a disgrace by his own mother. I would never be respected here if I associated with him. And rumours would follow us everywhere.

I pulled my feet up, forward, down. Up, forward, down. When I was next to him, he didn’t look up as he accused me: “You swore.”

“I did,” I confirmed. “Come on.”

I held out my hand, which due to its tenseness, showed clearly its blue veins. He grabbed it with his hand, marked red with my power. I pulled him to his feet and we walked away. I stared straight ahead and felt the tightness of his grip.

When we reached Grandpa’s house, we entered quietly into the living room. We passed by the dining room to get to the stairs, where Grandpa was saying, defeated, “In my day, people would rightly expect these to be poisoned.” 

“I think I’ll take my chances,” one of his bodyguards said. Cutlery clanged. I tugged Justinian up the rickety stairs and into the guest bedroom. It had a neatly made, modest king-sized bed with deep red covers. Perhaps a bit tight for two, but hopefully when I would politely ask if I should sleep on a couch, Justinian would insist it was big enough. Gently, I pulled the heavy door closed behind us.

“What are you going to do?” I asked Justinian, even more gently.

He looked me in the eyes, and again I was awestruck by their beauty. Even damaged beauty. “I don’t know,” he whispered imploringly.

“Justinian,” I murmured, and kneeled, “you must see me as an evil and cruel woman. But I keep my promises as well as my threats, and I oathed safety to you. One way to - if you want, I would be willing to marry you. I can’t say if I’ll be faithful, or loving, but I will protect and honor you.”

Bright, stunning eyes searched mine: not hard, but solemn.

“You can sleep on it tonight, or take as much time as -”

“No. I'll do it.” His voice was slightly husky, as if his throat were filled with mucus.

“I don’t want to pressure you.”

“I should do it,” he declared firmly. And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet y'all saw the Bernie twist coming, but I still think I'm funny and I'm still right.


	5. Epilogue

I was not so gentle with asking my mother for her blessing. “I’m getting married,” I told her. My body was taut for a fight.

“Oh? To?” She sounded caught off guard, but not antagonistic.

“Justinian.” She doesn’t know his name, I reminded myself. “The drug dealing boy.” Wow, Alice, way to make a case for him.

“Bold choice. Do you love him?”

“What do you care?”

“Love is generally considered a good thing,” she explained, an eyebrow cocked.

“I don’t know yet. He’s beautiful and I don’t want harm to come to him.”

“That’s not much of a reason to wed.”

“I made a vow to protect him. He needs me.”

“Oh, dear,” she sighed, and shook her head. “You shouldn’t throw away your future over a childish promise.”

“I’m not a child. And it’s not throwing away anything. I can always cheat, he won’t mind much.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mum asked, amused.

“Will you let me do it?”

“I can’t stop you,” she said, and since she most definitely could stop me if she wanted to I took it as permission.

A week later, I watched him approach the altar. Mum was leading him, since none of his friends or family from Carolina would. She passed his right hand to me, and sat down in the front row. I looked into his eyes again. Today they were content, I thought.

Sister Evangeline recited the wife’s vows in Latin for me to confirm. “I do oath to lead my husband with integrity and determination, even through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, till it do us part. I oath to be a just and benevolent mother to our children, following in the example of the Mother.”

“I do,” I stated. I pushed the wedding band, a beautiful and intricate weaving of gold and sapphire, onto Justinian’s finger.

“And I do oath to follow my wife with faithfulness and submission even through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, till it do us part. I oath to be a patient and loving father, following in the example of the Son.”

“I do,” Justinian said, putting a plain silver band on my ring finger. I wondered if he could understand Latin - did he know what he was getting into? Did I, really? Well, no, of course not. But we understood enough, I could see in his eyes.

I leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo impatient for the Amazon series on The Power to come out, but I guess that can't happen during a pandemic. But I'd like to end on a happy note, so here's something happy: happy Halloween! oh wait it's Nov. 1st now it's midnight I should be in bed


End file.
